Drunk
by Siempre
Summary: PostEp Pas de Deux, with quote from Great Barrier. My own view of a drunk Goren. T just to be on the safe side.


General POV

She never could tell if he truly hated himself or just a profound disinterest for his own health and well being. For what ever reason, every case they had, he treated as though it was his life sustaining force. Which it very well might have been. No piece of evidence was ever overlooked, and no head wasn't thoroughly pocked and prodded. If it wasn't cheap pharmacists, it was serial killers with cannibalistic tendencies. The worst one of all was Nicole Wallace. Eames would have liked nothing more than to maim the dangerous blonde with her seductive accent, and deport her ass back to Australia to be executed. The detective wasn't a violent person by nature, but when someone messed with her partner, her protectiveness reared its head. No one else ever stood up for him, so she made it her job. And it was about to get a lot harder.

Eames POV

One of these days I am going to lose it. Not because of a case, but because of what she is doing to him. Everyday there's some reminder of her around him.

My partner could very well be the reincarnation of Sherlock Holmes. If that is the case then I must be Watson, oh well. With Holmes, his demons took form in Professor Moriarty. For my partner, his demons use to be free floating entities. Constantly bothering him, but never taking on an actual human appearance. Then he met Nicole Wallace. It seemed as though she took one look at him and sucked in all his fears that were floating around his big head and spit them back out at him whenever she got a chance to. And I couldn't do anything to stop it.

No matter how much of a great detective he is, or how wonderful a man he is, Bobby can not take this for much longer. However strong a front he portrays Nicole knows every button to push and does, almost every day. If it's not scones, it's hand-written letters with no return addresses. They have been showing up at work and at his apartment.

The last straw came today when Deakins called us into his office. 'Not Guilty on all counts'. I saw Bobby turn away in pain and frustration. He had dug a hole, yet some how she managed to get out of it. Next time I'm going to bury her in it. All I can do right now is support him and catch him if he falls.

:x x x:

Well, he didn't fall, but he sure as hell stumbled, serves me right for trying to use a stupid cliché. For the record, drunk Bobby is not a fun Bobby. I would not mind if he was a happy, depressed, or even a confessional drunk. But that, however, is not the case. My partner is a loud S.O.B. when he's had too much to drink. In general, Bobby knows all the right buttons to push to irritate a confession out of some one. When he's sober, he has the ability to control himself, but not so much when he's shit faced. He tends to be very intimidating, especially when there are no filters between his brain and his mouth. Since I'm usually the one to deal with him drunk, I have grown used to it. Deakins is never involved because Bobby could very well say something and get fired.

That is why I am currently standing outside some rat-hole of a bar, praying that Bobby's not totally piss drunk. There's only so much of him I can deal with when he's tanked.

I really shouldn't be whining because it is my fault that he is in there. I should have done something sooner. I saw the pain and anger in his face the moment he turned away from Deakins today. Instead of talking to an angry Goren, I get a drunk Goren, oh goodie.

The din of the customers hits me as I step in from off the street. The lights are low and a karaoke machine is running at full blast in the back. I see Goren sitting at the bar with a line of empty shot glasses, and I wince. He's obviously working off his frustration about Nicole's 'Not Guilty' verdict.

'Gee,' I chide myself, 'with observations like this it's no wonder you are Detective First Grade.'

There are not a whole lot of ways this could be worse. Shots mean that Goren will be ready to do battle with whatever comes his way, especially what's on his mind, and he will end up barely able to walk. Approaching him when this much alcohol has been consumed often times resembles a lamb going to the slaughter. I don't fail to notice that the other patrons are keeping their distance from him. Apparently he has already graced them with his drunken charm, lucky for me I'm armed.

As I make my way steadily toward him, it is obvious that it will not end well. He has yet to acknowledge my presence and continues to down another shot, bringing the grand total of empties before him up to twenty. God, I will be very surprised if he can remember his own name by the end of tonight. I have seen my share of drinkers, but my partner still astonishes me that he can drink this much and still get up and go to work in the morning. I get a hangover just thinking about it. I sigh internally, not willing to risk starting off the battle on the wrong foot. This was not the most ideal time to return to work, but if I hadn't, no one would be here to look after him. With that thought in mind, I step up beside him and prepare for the joy of getting my piss drunk partner home. Christ, with him sitting down on the bar stool, we're at eye level. This is not necessarily a good thing.

"Ah, my knight in shining armor has come to rescue me from myself," he announced sarcastically. The other customers at the bar take one look at us, and relocate behind tables. I signal the bar tender for the bill. Oh yeah, he recognizes me. This is not the first time I have bailed my partner's ass out of this place. The bartender shakes his head and gives me a sympathetic look as he takes away the empty glasses and replaces them with a piece of paper, with an appalling number on it.

I place the correct number of bills on the table, and a little extra for the bartender, just in case he enjoys telling stories about the drunken lunatic of a cop that patronizes the place.

"Come on partner, let's get you home." Bobby laughs evilly, the way he does when he's mocking suspects. Instead of talking directly to me, he decides that everyone should participate in this fun experience.

"My partner, ladies and gentlemen," Goren's introduction leaves a few people shaking their heads, but he has yet to finish. "The woman, who just got off of maternity leave from having her sister's baby, thinks she can help me!" Bobby now turns to face me and I got the full view of his blood shot eyes and his breath that reeks of booze, a considering look on his face. "Why did you have her baby? Was it because you knew it would be you last chance to carry a child?" His expression turned into cruel accusation, "I bet it was because you knew you would never be married or have any children of your own. You knew that no man would want a cop for a wife, too butch and bossy. The sex would have to be mind blowing just for you to keep a man around for more than a couple of nights. But the eggs were 'ripe and ready for hire,' so why not? Make a little cash on the side to add to the pathetic salary cops in this city get. Oh, I have been meaning to ask you, did your sister pay you for your services or did you do it as a favor?" Bobby might be a bastard when his is drunk, but he has never spoken to me like this before.

I have always prided myself on keeping my temper, especially when it came to my partner. I have heard the stories of the other cops he worked with and knew that none of them lasted very long. When I was partnered with Goren, I promised myself I would not be like everyone else and lose it on him. For years I kept my temper in check, but that doesn't seem very important to me at the moment. I saw the 'I'm too clever for my own good' look on his face and lost it.

I let fly with everything I had in me and the impact of the flat of my hand across his face was enough to snap his head to the side. It made a satisfying sound that was followed by complete silence. Goren just looked at me, and I looked right back. I had never hit him and that slap had at the very least startled him, if not knocking some sense back into him at the same time.

"It's time to go Bobby," I tell him firmly. I grabbed him by the elbow and lead him out of the bar. The karaoke machine had long since stopped, and the patrons brave enough to look at us are probably wondering which one will come out alive. The others buried themselves in their glasses, desperately avoiding eye contact with either of us.

I had found a parking spot near the entrance to the bar, so there was very little trouble getting him into the car, and the ride to his apartment is blessedly silent. As I put my car into park once again, I look over at my passenger. He is staring out the window, probably not even aware that we have stopped. I take a deep breath to center myself and look at him. "Let's get you upstairs to bed."

I get out of my side of the car, and walk around to his, shutting the driver side door as I go. Getting his door open is the least of my worries at the moment. Bobby is now doing his impression of a human doll, complete with lifeless limbs and no will power. Once again, I am forced to take control of him physically. He has yet to unbuckle himself, so that becomes my first task. Next I have to throw his right arm over my shoulders and pull him out as best as I can. Regardless of the fact that he is more than a foot taller than I am. With him out, I kicked the door closed with my foot and lock it with the device on my keychain. Bobby has now decided to help me in my efforts and moves his feet forward. His right arm is still sprawled across my shoulders, so I put my left arm around his waist to balance us. If anyone were to see us they would have laughed until they died or I shot them, I am not picky at this point and I want no witnesses.

The stairs are not an option tonight if we both are to come out of this in one piece, so I lead us to the elevator. It's blessedly empty at midnight so the ride up very much resembles the car ride. No one speaks, and Goren is only slightly swaying on his feet. We exit at his floor and I am faced with the next problem. Opening his door is going to take some expertise. My partner has no hand eye coordination at the moment, but I don't have a key.

"Bobby." He grunts at me from above. "Where are your keys?" He mumbles something that comes out as a slur, "Pocket." Great. Now I have to dig in his pockets to figure out where the hell they are, while keeping him in a relatively upright position.

I lean him up against the wall next to his door and place myself in front of him so he can't fall forward. To minimize the groping I will have to do in order to find his keys I quickly give him a pat down. There is a lump that is almost certainly going to be keys in his left front pocket. As carefully as I can I reach into that pocket and pull out the metal objects. They are most certainly keys and there are only a few on the key ring so it is a simple task figuring out which one will fit his door.

To put the key in the lock and keep my partner up at the same time, I am forced to press my small body up against his hulking form while stretching my arm out to the side to put the key in the hole. There sure as hell better be an award for this kind of partner devotion. Going above and beyond the call of duty I think it's called. Well this definitely qualifies.

It takes my a couple of tries to finally get the door open and then I pull Bobby's right arm over my shoulder again and usher him into his apartment. I use the same technique I had earlier with the car door, and continue to walk my partner through his apartment to his bedroom. Thankfully I know where it is so I don't have to stop and search. I don't think I can support him for much longer without doing serious damage to my vertebrae.

When we get to his bedroom I take a small amount of pleasure in pushing him onto his bed unceremoniously. He's in a t-shirt and jeans so I don't have to worry about getting him out of a suit jacket and tie. I do remove his sneakers and pull the blankets up over him. "Goodnight Bobby." He's already half way to unconscious land and I quietly make my way out of his room.

I help myself to a glass of water and write him a brief note saying that I got him home safe and I will see him tomorrow bright and early in the office, regardless of how much his head hurts. I smile to myself about this and I know that I won't envy him in the least bit when he wakes up tomorrow morning.

I check on him on last time, and he's out cold. After making sure that his alarm clock is on full blast I leave the room and place the note on the kitchen counter next to the coffee machine so he'll be sure to see it. I lock the door behind me with the spare key I found next to the front door. For a brief second I lean against the door for support, sighing heavily I stand up and make my way back to my car and the few precious hours I'll have to sleep in my bed before going back to work.

"I'm getting too old for this shit."


End file.
